Come Around Full Circle
by Syolen
Summary: The rurouni walks a road well-traveled, but the path to redemption is a twisted one. There are so many truths left to discover and build from.
1. Dreamers with empty hands

**Disclaimer:** I can sigh all I want; the rurouni isn't mine. *SIGH*. Still not mine.

**Note: **This was written for the community 4purposes on Livejournal. The chapter titles actually are the prompts from the community. I hope you like it! :)

**FALL** -_ dreamers with empty hands_

Katsura-san's announcement that the war was practically won was what had spurred Kenshin into action. That was his chance, his now-or-never. He had sought out his leader and returned his swords, asking something of the older man for the first time in nearly five years - that he remember his word and let him go. A nod, a simple nod, and Kenshin had been free. He had bowed deeply in thanks and farewell before he had exited the room, silent but for the light rustling of his clothes and slightly off-balance without the weight of the blades at his side.

He had left Kyoto in a daze on a crisp winter morning, eyes cast to the road and avoiding contact with anyone, only wishing to put as much distance as he could between himself and the city. He walked, staring at his feet and at the ground because if he stopped, he thought and if he thought, memories came back and _her_ presence became more tangible (she stepped on his shadow; it made moving more difficult) and with it the guilt, the remorse, the gut-wrenching sadness.

He wanted nothing more than to stop and hide in _her_ shadow, hold her tight and let _her_ direct his steps. He would follow her anywhere, if only she would tell him again that it was going to be all right. He would believe her, this time.

But.

As tempting as her shadow was, Tomoe's living (dying), breathing (choking, choking on her own blood), still (barely) warm self had made him promise. He had to live.

He had destroyed her. Twice. Keeping his promise was a pathetic excuse for an apology but he could not deny her that (could deny her nothing, _nothing_).

So.

He walked.

He walked and, over the months, the turmoil in his mind gradually quieted, leaving room for new thoughts. A glance at a time, he was looking up at a crystalline blue sky that did seem big enough to contain a whole world. A world that was, now, his to discover. Tomoe wanted him to _live_ - that meant to experience, and not merely survive. Like the presence of the sakabatou - a parting gift from Katsura-san, no doubt, although Kenshin had no proof -, the roads, the other travelers, the air, the space, would take some getting used to now that he really noticed them, and not just _sensed_ them.

But he walked.

He never wanted to kill anymore but a few more days reminded him that attacks did happen on the road, even miles from any city, and that he needed to be able to protect himself. For days, he adjusted his attacks so that he would hit the shoulder and not the neck, the hip instead of the stomach. And if he could protect himself, he could also protect others. And if he protected them, he could also help them in anything they might need.

_This is what Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu_ _is about_, he thought, _this is what Shishou wanted to teach me:_ _to protect those who can't protect themselves._ It was not only about sword fighting either, he realized. This was the difference between sword techniques honed and polished and perfected over centuries to deliver a flawless killing blow, and the Way of the Sword Shishou had told him about, the one that defined every moment of a swordsman's life.

So he carried heavy bags and tended to fields, surreptitiously left money on tables and bought rice and dry fish he then placed on doorsteps; he built shacks and cabins and distracted children with stories from his travels.

But he kept walking.

For the feeling of hypocrisy never left, was still tightly wound around his chest (coil-coil-_squeeze_). The roads quickly stopped holding any charm to him - once vibrant, they were now gravel and rocks, dust and mud and, really, the trick was to keep one's _tabi_ dry. He walked, breathed and tried hard, oh so hard, to let the landscape make some kind of impression on him. Mount Fuji's snowy top shone in the distance and he _knew_ it was beautiful, yet he could not find it in himself to fully appreciate it.

Step.

They thanked him, all of them, showered him with gratitude even when he would not tell them his name. He was not sure which one was the most appropriate, either. Battosai, never. Shinta… was long gone. He didn't believe there was much left of the trusting and idealistic boy he had been. Battosai had always tried to kill his victims in one blow, sparing them a long and painful agony. This was as close to merciful as he could have been, but the wanderer realized now that Shinta had been the one victim he had slowly, cruelly murdered. Over the course of several years, toying with and ripping his soul apart a little bit more with each strike of his sword. The boy was long gone. This left Kenshin, but that was the name Shishou had given him. As it was, he did not think himself worthy of it. So he answered, "this one's merely a wanderer" when they asked, even if they really insisted, a smile that was neither happy nor fake on his lips.

And people… _talked_, even this far out in the country. The last battles of the Boshin war had been fought but were still much too recent for comfort. Actual news from the Restoration - it was finally, _finally_ happening, like he and Katsura-san and so many others had dreamed - hardly made it there but rumors were much, much swifter. Some seemed to follow him everywhere he went.

Step.

In cities and villages, in bars and town squares, people talked about the heroes of the war and their deeds, reenacted fights and battles, exaggerating movements and situations to impress their audience. Kenshin often smiled at the inaccuracy of some of their facts or when he recognized a friend being described.

But he never stayed to listen.

At some point, when the storytellers had their audience captivated, they would inevitably sober down, drop their voices and speak not of feats of bravery but of bloody, ruthless murders dealt by a demon sent by Izanami-no-Mikoto herself. And when the listeners were scared and horrified enough, they would hiss his name, shiver sent running through the crowd.

_Hitokiri Battosai._

The children, too, told each other stories of the war that sounded like fantastic adventures until they brought the demon in. When he appeared, their voices too dropped to breathed whispers full of fear and awe.

_Hitokiri Battosai_.

How would they react if they knew that he had walked a mere few strides from them?

Step.

And for that, Kenshin knew he had to keep walking, to keep a respectful distance between these people, himself, and the alias he had wanted dead at Toba-Fushimi. His instinctive flinch every time he heard the name was all the incentive he needed. He could not rest, would not rest, until the blood on his hands was washed away, and that took so much more than skill with a sword.

So, vow weighing heavily at his side, caught up in thoughts, he put one foot in front of the other, barely noticing which way he took at crossroads. He walked the roads of Japan, his step determined. Tomoe had said that it would be all right. One more step; Redemption could be just around the bend.


	2. The bare woods are still

**WINTER **_-__the bare woods are still_

The world was… empty.

_we're going to fight_ _stand up we'll find him and fight he won't get away with it will he come on stand up listen please i won't be back_

… If only he had been stronger and reacted faster (_thoughts of_ _Tomoe and Kaoru crossed his mind and suddenly one had the other's face and eyes - lifeless, lifeless eyes_) then maybe history would not have had to repeat itself; maybe no heart would have been virtually ripped apart or actually run through with a sword.

His master had been right. Heck, _Saito_ had been right. After years of wandering, he had gone soft.

_He had been done with this. And tired, so much more than he had thought._

It was not only the fact that he loved her; it was the failure. The _repeated_ failure.

That he had helped countless others over the years did not matter; neither did the fact that he had prevented a war by defeating Shishio. These lives he had supposedly saved… they were an abstract concept to him, data, a reality he could not grasp because he did not _know_ these people. But Kaoru… Kaoru was, had been, tangible. Real. Alive and warm and smiling at his side and he had failed _her_, just like he had failed Tomoe.

She had asked an unknown assassin-turned-restless-wanderer to stay with her. She had offered him a _home_.

_And he had imagined it; he had envisioned snippets of what life could have been with her. Home._

He had wasted so much time pined to the wall by Kujiranami's iron grip, giving free way to Enishi. He had known, then, what could, what _would_ happen, he had felt fear coil in his gut and turn to rage. He had to protect her, them, he _had_ _to_…

_i will protect_

But he had not, and now… She was dead. He forced himself to think the words (_she was dead-dead-dead_), to picture her in his mind, torn and bloody and forever hopeless, now.

He had been far too late.

_There had been s_o_ much blood, red, red blood on white snow, white walls…_

Warm blood, and he was so cold. Clouded vision, the scent of white plum blossoms, and the cold. He had been there before.

There had been tears too, at first, but he had stopped those long ago. He had cried after Tomoe's death, but tears had never brought anyone back to life, had not made him a better person.

_once a murderer…_

He would not allow himself to cry over Kaoru's grave (_she was dead-dead-dead_).

But what now? Another ten years of wandering? Twenty? History kept repeating itself, it would not do (_and he was so tired_). Maybe he should just… let go, lie cold and thought-free in the ground (_just like _they_ were_) and finally be done with it.

The world was empty.

_admit that it was all an irreparable mistake_

Defeated. Exhausted, broken, and barely functioning.

_Funny how words echoed one another, how thoughts emerged and prompted others and how he was a mere spectator._

He could barely remember how he had chained his sword and dragged himself to Rakuninmura. That seemed to require so much energy. He did not even have the strength to _blink_.

He had told Yahiko that those who fight for others were not allowed to lose and give up, that they could only train and keep getting better. Was he that much of a hypocrite?

What _had_ he been running after all these years? Motives, he needed to identify his motives, they were crucial, had always been. He had killed for a reason, a cause, something bigger than him that he had embraced fully and held close to his heart - he was a samurai, in the literal sense of the word if not by birth. But then, _then_. These past ten years. Had it all been for… his own private, selfish redemption? Had he done it for _himself_, led by his own footsteps to the next village or city, whishing for - the thought horrified him - the next opportunity to reduce his burden and save his… soul? His peace of mind? If the answer was yes, then he would gladly let Shishio's ghost take him away, blow him away.

_admit that it was all an irreparable mistake_

Motives, it all came down to that. He needed the truth. His truth.

_But he was. So_. _Tired._

His thoughts wandered - bitter irony, yes, but he would not even try to control them at this point. He was not in the right state of mind for this, much too used to guilt trips and taking the blame on himself. He needed perspective. To take a step back, watch from an outsider's point of view.

He could only hope that slowly, painfully, the words would acquire some logic. They surfaced, whirled and connected; sentences formed, sometimes even made sense.

_please don't cry_

This was easy. He had no right to cry.

_it will be all right_

_No_. No. He had believed in those words for over ten years and now… Truth, he needed truth.

_follow the fragrance and you'll find the answer that you've been seeking_

It still smelled like white plum blossoms…

_White plum blossoms…. Cold. Swords. Blood. Death._

Death, at the beginning and at the end. How fitting. He had been running in circles.

The world was empty.

_Enough_.

Enough. He had failed, that was the answer and he - _tired, too tired_ - longed for dark, cold sleep. But as heavy and weary as his body had grown, part of his mind seemed to be in uproar and more words kept registering, uninvited, more voices…

_kenshin-san_ _please listen please stand up once again please please save yahiko-kun stand up save please please please save please_

There it was again. More people about to die and he… wasn't going to help them?

A flicker. A ripple. An indefinable _something_ within him (_that felt so far away that it could just as well have been at his side and have nothing to do with him because he was supposed to be nothing more than a spectator here_) trembled. Stirred.

But why, what, _what_ was the answer?

_there is one thing that i can do and that is only to protect the happiness of the people that i see one by one_

Oh, but he had said these words several times over the years. And every time, he had _meant_ them.

Another ripple. Gaining strength. The tide coming in.

Suddenly the smell of white plum blossoms no longer clogged his mind. Suddenly he felt his hand firmly clenching the sword that would not kill.

_i will protect those before my eyes_

The answer… Now he remembered.

He had known all along.


	3. The blossoms made garlands in their hair

**SPRING **_- the blossoms made garlands in their hair_

Their world is changing, quickly expanding. Sanosuke sends letters from America; Yutaro keeps them updated on his recovery in Prussia. Megumi is in Aizu and Misao and Aoshi are in Kyoto, but the letters, the friends, all find their way back to the dojo, eventually.

Somehow, he was the reason they all met; he is the center of their little group. He is not sure of how he feels about that fact - his stomach still churns unpleasantly whenever he remembers how Yahiko once dubbed them the "Kenshingumi". He never liked being in the spotlight like this.

So the world moves on and he watches from behind. He thinks he could be the constant of their group, if it helped them. He understands their need to move, to put one foot in front of the other, if only because he has spent ten years doing just that. He had to move on and on and on to find his own truth, to live fully again. But, he came to a brutal halt a few months ago, was immobilized by guilt and remorse, and inertia is powerful. Shatters of _his_ world - the one he had fought for and run after - rained down hard on him then and he is still putting the pieces back together, still figuring out what goes where and what he should do with the guilt and the pain - how could he just let go, how could he simply discard them when they've been so intimate for fifteen years?

There are other feelings, too, feelings he is not sure he is worthy of - he is but a man and they will not all fit in his heart, so which ones should he hold on to? Which ones drive him onwards, which ones define him?

That night, Kaoru kneels beside him on the engawa. Three times now, she has welcomed him home. He remembers the very first night he spent at the dojo, how he sat in the dark listening to the house's night song, taking in his new surroundings, listening to Kaoru breathing as she slept, astonished by her generosity - it would not be the last time he was, far from it.

_She_ is not just moving forward. _She_ is not blindly chasing after an elusive answer like he was. She is growing, learning, maturing; shedding the naivety of the little girl he met over a year ago.

She sees right through him, too, and knows better than to ask and push for an answer. Her hand moves to firmly hold his instead and he allows himself to enjoy the sensation before cradling her hand in both of his, his thumb gently brushing over her knuckles.

She is becoming a beautiful person, right before his eyes.

She wants him to change with her. She has watched him take baby steps towards fully becoming himself, helped him to stay on track. Learning that he could still breathe and would not disintegrate without the weight of the world on his shoulders holding him to the ground has been quite the discovery for him, and he owes it to her.

No one has come to disturb their peace in months. Scars are healing - slowly, but surely - and he has finally understood that letting himself enjoy the quiet is not so bad after all. He smiles at the thought, and feels Kaoru's own smile even without seeing it.

And for the first time, he does not add the honorific "-_dono_" to her name when he replies to her goodnight wish, as she stands to walk back into the house. She is startled and looks… more than pleased. And that is very, very good, he decides.

He does not feel he has atoned for his crimes and doubts he ever will, but he is not only looking for redemption anymore. His life is his to live now and Kaoru… she is his second chance to make it right, Kenshin knows.


	4. Any summer's story tell

**SUMMER - **_any summer's story tell_

Yahiko asked him once, after Megumi and Sanosuke left, where he himself imagined he would be ten years down the road. Kenshin had taken his time before answering - there was no sugar-coating anything with the boy, and they both knew well how things did not always turn out the way they were planned to. He had carefully chosen his words before looking up from the logs he had been cutting, a soft smile on his lips.

"Somewhere where I can look back on the past ten years and think, "this went better than I thought it would", I hope."

Yahiko had seemed surprised, but had whole-heartedly agreed after thinking the words over. "Yeah, that'd be nice."

Ten years later the sun still rises and the summer birds still chirp, and Kenshin has known much worse mornings than waking up curled around his wife with his arms around her waist, keeping her close.

The wind chimes sing, announcing that Kenji is stepping down from the engawa and into the backyard. Kenshin can just imagine him, barely grazed by the morning sunrays, and waits for the small flicker of ki that indicates that his son is now going through the most basic kata of the Kamiya Kasshin Ryu to warm up.

He will quickly move to more advanced stages and, just like every other morning, still sensing for his ki, Kenshin will be amazed at the boy's talent. Granted, Kenji is his parents' son, but everyone, including even Hiko, agrees that his fast progress is nothing short of impressive - or frustrating, according to Yahiko.

A second set of footsteps, lighter and slightly unbalanced, and Kenshin cannot hold back a smile. At four years old, little Yukari takes after her mother and is far more interested in shinai and kenjutsu techniques than in her dolls and toys. He can just picture her kneeling on the wooden boards, big blue eyes all but staring at her brother, taking in all of his moves. She will begin her formal training when she turns five next spring, and he knows Kaoru could not be any prouder of their children.

Kenshin feels pride, too, and love, and it is all bigger, stronger than him. His world has been turned upside down and the phrase "protect those before my eyes" took on a whole new meaning the day Kenji was born. He has resolved to stop trying to analyze it and to simply enjoy it. Wise choice, if the - genuine - smile that graces his lips more often than not is any indication. If anything, Kaoru approves, and that is more than reason enough for him.

Their extended family is still holding tight: Sanosuke came back (right on time for lunch, of course) and now spends most of his time in Aizu. Renowned-doctor Megumi still pretends to be annoyed, but she knows she is not fooling anyone. Yahiko is dancing around Tsubame - he is still as shy as she is on certain matters. As for Misao and Aoshi, they have been getting their fair share of knowing looks.

Kenshin used to think… he used to think he would never be happy. Content, maybe, but happiness had been out of the question entirely until he met Kaoru. And here he is now. Twenty years after he first set foot out of Kyoto on a clear winter morning, all the pieces have come together.


End file.
